Soil, Soil
by westpoints
Summary: [complete] 'You have to get off the floor,' said Ryan.'  Sharpay is having a mid high schoolcollege crisis.  Kelpay with a smidge of Chadpay and a whole heap of angst.


"Soil, Soil" 

by TehFuzzyPenguin

Disclaimer: I don't own any songs. Or HSM.

* * *

Her carpet really was gross. Sharpay's vision slid in and out of focus as she inspected each twisted piece of wool. Because it was blonde, pieces of her hair had gone for years without detection on the floor, and she was slightly grossed out. 

Life happened to people outside her home.

But right now, she really couldn't imagine anywhere better for her to be than on the floor. (_Oh and I'm feeling directionless_). The first days of summer vacation had come, but the sky-rocketing temperatures, the 400 percent humidity had already worn out their welcome, and she was sick of going places. She frowned. She was going to Boston in autumn, though, so maybe—no, that was different. She was sick, then, of just...of high school life, and thank god that was over. Thank god all the drama was over, and every stomach-plummeting drop on the rollercoaster would from now on take place on a stage.

Maybe Senioritis had just hit her late. Sharpay wrinkled her nose at an obscenely close strand of hair she just spotted out of the corner of her eye, and sighed. It was probably just the idea of starting over somewhere, going somewhere new where no one knew her name. She was probably just a little nervous, and that was why she was on the floor. It happened to everyone. The night before her first lead role, Sharpay had laid her head down on her dressing room table and closed her eyes, listened to the general rumble of the ensemble in other rooms, and almost didn't make her cue. She just needed that one moment of solace before the rush. (_Yes, b__ut that's to be expected, and I know that best_).

The phone in her hand vibrated, and Sharpay shifted slightly to let see the display, squinting in the early morning light. Was it morning? Had she slept at all, or was she counting the strands of blonde hair on the carpet all night? When was the last time she slept? This was probably why she was so spaced out; sleep deprivation. She should really get off the floor. (_In creeps the morning and another day is lost_). Sharpay held the phone closer to her face, rolled her eyes, and relaxed. It was Ryan. He was in the next room, but either way, she didn't feel like talking to him.

The room looked grey now. Too harsh, torn light coming through her windows cast shadows on her light blue walls, darkened by the posters on her ceilings. She would have to remember to take those with her to Boston. Her stomach growled, but the hunger was coming and going in waves, and she really wasn't that hungry; her body was just being stubborn. Besides, she wasn't down to her summer weight yet; much better to just lie here.

Her hand quivered again, and she pulled it up. Her eyes widened at its display, and she flipped her cell phone open and tapped feverishly on the keys for a few seconds. She hit the 'send' button, and let her hand flop back, replaying the text message in her head. (_You've just written, wondering, and I reply fast_). Kelsi had said, "We're in NYC," and she had said, "Give it my love." She worried for a second that she'd replied too fast, but not really. If anything, Kelsi was probably delighted that she even responded.

God, Sharpay thought. Kelsi. Unlike the rest of the East High graduate population, Kelsi wasn't celebrating her new-found freedom with dozens of intoxicated parties. She was going with her parents to New York, and then leaving for San Francisco, to get adjusted before her term started at State. Sharpay had planned to attend said parties, until she learned about Kelsi's course of action, and now she was lying on the floor, laid desolate by her subordinate's amazingly more structured life.

She was better than this, she knew. She was better than an infatuation with a writer. But she was counting hairs on her carpet, so maybe she just needed someone to help her. (_All you need to save me_).

It was...a year? A year and a half? Just about. They weren't dating, not really, just both "taken," whatever that meant when you were sixteen. And of course Sharpay loved it, loved the exhilaration, loved the feeling of reaching out and pulling the smaller girl into a closet somewhere, fervently kissing her, and letting go with a smirk, loved the whole damn feeling of _taboo_, that was all she wanted. It was like being on stage, only uninhibited by things like lines and choreography. (_All you need to save me_).

Her phone vibrated again, multiple times, and she pulled it almost too quickly, her eyes unable to read the lines until she slowed down—Chad. She sighed. He'd want to ask her if she was going tonight, and if not, if she wanted him to come over. She knew, because it happened yesterday, and the day before, and—it stopped vibrating.

_"It's either me or Jason."_

_"No. It's either me or Chad."_

Of course, there was freshman and sophomore year before that, but that didn't _mean_ anything, no one knew anything when they were fourteen. But after the interruption of _Twinkle Town_, maybe it had meant something, but of course, that wasn't _anything_.

_Everything_ was that one day, that one day in the science room when they'd declared that they were through, even though they'd never really been together (well, in the biblical sense...). It was April, Sharpay was jealous even though she'd never admit it, and Kelsi was tired and she'd always cop out to that. So words were exchanged, and they were over, in the worst way possible.

Buzz. Chad again, and she ignored it again. (_Call._)

But of course, the venom was there, had been there too long, and they couldn't just stop seeing each other, or talking to each other, so when they got their yearbooks, Sharpay had taken a fluffy pink pen and written, in her most neutral handwriting, _"What four years we've had, __Nielsen__! Good luck, my pet Bernstein, and maybe __someday__ we'll cross paths on the Great White Way. XOXO!"_ Which was a complete and utter sham as far as sincerity went, but it was a yearbook, dammit.

(_And I'll be curled on the floor hiding out from it all_.)

Her phone buzzed one more time; a text. Kelsi. "I did." Her lips curved into a smile, only to be drawn back down by the growl in her stomach. She should do something about that, but her fingers were currently occupied with the task of typing out, "tkts. now."

Her thumb hesitated over the send button, and she waited for a second. Too fast, she thought. Kelsi had written in her yearbook, with a black gel pen, "_Good luck, Sharpay! Have fun this summer, and thank _(that was scratched out, but after countless hours of careful inspection, Sharpay was fairly sure that was the word) _don't forget me!_" Even shorter than her own. No, she wouldn't reply to that one. Besides, her phone rang again, and the message was shunted to drafts.

Chad. Third time today. (_And I won't take any other call_). It really wasn't fair to him. After all, Sharpay loved him first, if love was ever a factor, if she could ever love an arrogant idiot jock, then she would have loved him. And—first? Only, she meant. After all, she loved him. Not Kelsi. But—

Ryan knocked on her door. "Sharpay? Shar? Chad just called me, he wanted to know—"

"Shut up!" she called out. "Can't you tell I'm moping?"

Ryan hesitated. "I didn't know you were studying Method," he said. She knew he was just doing it to be snide.

"Well, I am. So—just tell him something."

"What—"

"Ryan! You are my brother! Act accordingly!"

She returned to her text message, hovered over sending it. She contemplated sending it at all. (_I feel like a fool so I'm going to stop troubling you_). No. No, it was stupid; she should just leave Kelsi alone now, at just a clean break. Still, Sharpay waited a few more seconds before finally pressing yes, do delete that message.

Life happened to Ryan on the other side of her door.

Ryan knew. Of course he knew; he did the same thing with ensemble boys every year, only it was always a different boy, and it was only once a year. So, maybe not the same thing. But he did know, and she was sort of proud of him, that he didn't allow her to mope like this. He was learning.

She found herself hoping, for some stupid reason, that Kelsi didn't think she was snubbing her or anything. (_Buried in my yard, a __letter to send to you)_. But the girl should be used to it by now; Sharpay decided not to bother wondering. She should really get off the floor. Take a shower, get dressed, get ready to go out tonight. But it was all so stupid; she didn't plan on seeing any of these people after this summer, and she didn't really want to remember them by anything. It wasn't worth it.

Years from now, she would forget completely about Chad and Troy and Gabriella, and, most of all, Kelsi. She shouldn't even make the effort. One more time, her body shook with the sudden growl of her stomach. Damn. Maybe she really was hungry.

_"You know, sometimes I think I might love you. But I don't think you love me very much, so there's no point in exchanging the words. But just so you know."_

No. She would never forget. Secret to the grave, other random clichés like that, Sharpay decided, but this was something she could use for future reference. _This_ was the feeling of desolation, of rejection, even though she was neither desolate nor rejected. _This_ was the feeling of getting swallowed up whole, of dying before it was time, even though—no, she was neither. _This_ was the feeling, then, she composed in her head, _this_ was the feeling of thinking that there was enough time to heal, of thinking that she'd get more of a farewell than a text message and a trite voicemail, of thinking that there would be some sort of theatrical, operatic ending where they both kissed and made up and lived happily ever after in the land of not-quite-lesbianville.

If she ever got up off the floor, she'd remember that _this_ was how it felt, and use it forever in her career. (_And if I forget, or—god forbid—die too soon_).

For the first time in years, Sharpay Evans felt very, very small. She wanted to drive out to the high school and stand on that stage one more time. It's not over until the fat lady sings, and while Sharpay wasn't fat, she guessed she would have to finish it one way or another. Maybe Kelsi would hear her, all the way over in New York, and go to tkts, because if she didn't, she'd have to pay full price...

(_Hope that you'll hear me, know that I wrote to you_). Sharpay snapped her vision back into focus. She should sleep. She should take a shower, then sleep. She should get off the floor, take a hot shower, and then sleep. Outside her famished body, life happened to the furniture.

This was the feeling, she summed up, that would make her famous one day. It wouldn't be her amazing voice, or her graceful dancing, or her fluid acting, its wouldn't be her comedic timing or a particularly clever pun by the writers, it would be that one moment, that one moment in every production, that breaks the audience's heart and sends them home rewriting it forever in their minds. And that moment would belong to her, absolutely, completely, because she knew how it felt, because she rewrote it forever in her mind, and that would make her immortal. Ponce de Leon never knew that the Fountain of Youth was filled with sorrow.

Graduation day was nothing in her memory. All Sharpay could recall was that she'd seen Kelsi, across the room, and wound through the conglomerate of robes to find her. Oh, and that there was a chocolate fountain with weeks-old marshmallows. But that wasn't the point. She'd said, "Well, this is it."

And Kelsi had said, "Sure." Sharpay was under the impression that there was more to say, only that wasn't the time to say it. (_All you need to say to me_).

Now she knew that there wasn't anything more to say. That was their relationship, in two lines. Open-ended, resolution-deprived, and deceitful. Somewhere along the way, one of them would call and miss the other one and leave a message, and a few months later, it would happen again, and they would keep playing phone tag until no one knew who was "it" anymore.

Except that was over now, because—just because. (_All you need to say to me_). Sharpay felt the urge to hear Kelsi's voice, to hear her say "goodbye," because—just because.

No, she suddenly realized, that wasn't what had happened at graduation. That was what had happened at the last Thespian Society meetingpartyfoodgathering. Sharpay, as president, had made a speech, and there was a plate of fruit and a chocolate truffle cake, and she was making rounds with her digital camera, snapping pictures with various drama kids for her Facebook.

And inevitably, she had to have one with Kelsi. Sharpay had steadied the flash on her camera. She'd walked up quickly behind the smaller girl, plopped her chin on her shoulder, whispered "Smile" right into Kelsi's ear, and taken the picture. It turned out well. And then Sharpay had stood up straight. She'd waited for Kelsi to turn to face her. And _then_ she'd said, "Well, this is it."

They both thought they'd say goodbye at graduation. They never got the chance. It shouldn't have mattered, but the word was invented for a reason. _That_ was what happened.

(_Call_).

Ryan knocked on her door again. "Hey," he said. "Hey, Chad called me again. He wants to know what's up with you."

"Can't I mope in peace?!"

"Obviously not," he said wryly. "Any word from Kelsi?"

"What?"

"Kelsi."

"What?"

"Dammit, Sharpay!"

"No," she said.

(_And I'll be curled on the floor hiding out from it all_). She had to get off the floor. "You have to get off the floor," said Ryan.

"What makes you think I'm on the floor?"

"You voice is drifting up."

"Oh." He was a lot smarter than he let on, she knew, but sometimes.

"Get up."

"Go away."

"What do I tell Chad?"

Sharpay sighed. "Tell him I'll see him next week."

She heard Ryan flip open his phone and dial Chad's number. "Dr. Sharpay will see you next week," he said.

"Fuck you," said Sharpay. She hoped that he'd hung up.

"No, she's fine. She's just—she'll see you next week," Ryan continued. "See you at the party." He hung up. "I'm going to the party," he told her.

"I heard the first time. Have fun. Don't stick your tongue down anyone's throat unless you're drunk."

"Get off the floor," Ryan said one last time.

Her thoughts were coming in short spurts now. Broken sentences. No, just short sentences. What the hell. Maybe she actually did need to eat. Maybe she should find a vacuum (did she even _have_ a vacuum?). Too much damn hair on the carpet.

Five minutes. Now she was hearing cue calls in her head. Five minutes till Act Two, Sharpay, break a leg! She lifted her fingers up to her face and imagined that they held eyeliner instead of a cell phone that wouldn't ring.

Outside her mind, life happened to her.

Two minutes! Two minutes until nothing started. Sharpay sighed. She pushed herself up. Her arms shook. She pushed the heel of her left hand into the carpet, because the rest of it was clutching a phone that no one was going to call.

She raised her head to peer into the mirror. No raccoon eyes. No running mascara. That was unexpected. Now for the rest.

Her phone vibrated. She frowned, turned her wrist over, and read the display. Troy. What the hell? She let her voicemail pick up. Right after it stopped buzzing, her phone lit up again. Gabriella. She assumed Chad was asking them to, as though she'd talk to them. She now held in her hand a phone that everyone called but the one she wanted.

(_And I won't take any other call_).

Sharpay threw her phone at the door. It fell short by a few inches, because she did like to be in touch with the outside world. She stood up, swaying slightly as the blood rushed from her head.

Curtain, Sharpay, have a good show!

No, this was real life. Enter from stage left, house right, step up to the scrim line, get it right because it's the only chance you'll ever get, Sharpay. Don't miss a note, and if you do, don't think about it for the rest of the number.

You go to Boston in three months, Sharpay, and then you're going to New York. Don't bother with make-up; there's not enough time, just get up there, just gogogo—

Sharpay inspected herself in the mirror again. Wrinkly clothes, but she was going to take a shower anyway. Slightly thin. Can't be too thin, or else she wouldn't have enough presence.

She stretched, walked over to the wall, and flipped on the light. Soft yellow light flowed over the harsh sun that flooded the room.

"I'm tired," she said to no one.

-end-

* * *

I'm back from hiatus! Yay! So, govschool was glorious, and if I know you well, you've probably seen the festival on Facebook that I had. If not...then...it was dank. Anyway, I return. It seems that every time I write a Kelpay, I loan out a bit of my soul. Ah, well. And they all happen in the same universe. I think I've just established a fanon for myself. Delicious! 

Anyway. The song lyrics in parentheses are to "Soil, Soil" by Tegan & Sara. It's really short, and you should find it somewheres on the internet because it's heart-wrenching. I know that I changed to a new writing style in the middle on you. I haven't decided if it's intentional. But I do love you guys.

Review!


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